Of Flowers and Feelings
by watcher-ofthe-sky
Summary: When the words seem too small, some of us choose to talk in the language of flowers. The soft petals can be as brutal as those bitter words. StingSu with Stingue. Written for StingSu Week 2019. Day 1, prompt: flowers


**A/N: **This is mostly a consequence of reading Oceanewaves' StingxNatsu fics on Tumblr and getting soft for this pairing. Of course, gratsu is something which I will always prefer over any other.

* * *

He is glowing.

You are burning.

Natsu gripped the door frame as he saw Sting coming out of the car. The blond flashed him his bright smile, blue eyes shining. Somehow, that punched a deeper bruise in Natsu's chest; a hollowness spreading like mosses on the once-blooming ground. Rogue followed out and rolled his eyes as Sting teasingly offered his hand to help him out but chuckled fondly at the man.

"Your garden is lovely," Rogue commented as Natsu welcomed them in the house.

"Thanks, it is mostly Sting's hard work, though. I just try my best to maintain it," he said, glancing momentarily at the said man's direction.

"Ah, yes. Gardening always soothed me since I was kid," Sting said.

xxx

On Natsu's dining table, a blue porcelain vase laid with fresh flowers. He remembered the way Sting used to change them every day:

"Tulips?" Natsu asked with an amused smile.

"Yellow Tulips represents cheerful thoughts," Sting replied as he gently kissed his cheek. "You cheer me up. You are my brightness. Happiness."

"Is Gray coming too?" Rogue asked as he warmed himself in front of the fireplace.

"Huh?" Natsu asked, coming out of his reverie. "Oh, no. He is not. He had to take his sister Erza somewhere."

"Too bad, it would have been fun; all four of us together after a long time," Sting said as he took off his boots.

Natsu watched the way Sting's face brightened every time Rogue looked at him. Like a sun hitting your skin after long hours of rain; the way rays dance on your skin in a cold winter afternoon.

All of this—it hurt.

It hurt in ways it wasn't supposed to.

Sting was with Rogue now and he was happy. Natsu was happy for him. It wasn't like they had promised to stay together for eternity. And even they had, it didn't matter; shit happens in life and you can't crush yourself under the weight of those blatant declarations which you make.

Things don't necessarily have to work out. You have to move on.

And so, they did.

But damn, why does it hurt like hell then?

"Cyclamens?" Natsu asked one evening as he came home from work. Things weren't exactly going smooth between them these days, to say the least. There had been frequent fights and build up frustrations.

Sting only nodded in return as he looked down, gulping. His voice wavered and hesitation laced his calm blue eyes as he finally said, "I want to tell you something."

Colour faded away from Natsu's face as every word pounded on his heart like an anchor when Sting quietly wiped his tears and apologised again. Natsu sank on the chair as his red carnations crushed in his bag.

"True love and affection," the florist had told him. He wanted to revive his relationship. Give another chance.

Later, when Sting left the house with his belongings, he numbly looked up what Cyclamens mean.

"Goodbye."

xxx

Sting didn't want to give up on their friendship. He gave Natsu space and time, respecting his boundaries and choices. It took them time to come to these terms where they could talk without it being awkward. He met Rogue and it felt like suddenly everything made sense. It clicked.

The guilt of leaving Natsu always gnawed on him like a splinter stinging again and again. But staying would have hurt him more. Both of them. It wouldn't have been fair to Natsu. He deserved happiness; someone who could love him with every inch of his body.

Sting knew that it couldn't be him.

But as he about to start driving to go to Natsu's house for dinner, he remembered something.

xxx

After Natsu waved his goodbyes to the pair after dinner and gaming night, he slowly closed the door and thudded his head against it. He inhaled a long breath, his throat tying itself in knots when his eyes fell on the porcelain vase.

Instead of the daisies, he had put earlier, purple hyacinths were kept in it, sprinkled with droplets.

As he went closer and ran a hand over the petals, a note fell from them.

"Forgiveness," it said.

* * *

**A/N:** Review would be nice.


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